


Moon and Wolf

by decembersiris



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 11:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decembersiris/pseuds/decembersiris
Summary: The Long Night is over, and Daenerys searches for Robb after the battle is over.





	Moon and Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my best work. I haven't written for a while and I'm pretty rusty. Hell it's even a little corny and cliche. But fuck it I wanted to get the idea out. Enjoy!

Daenerys staggered through the frost, icy mist so thick she could hardly make out the trees of the godswood. She shuddered against the cold, her jaw aching from her chattering teeth as she clung to her sword. She stared at the tip, its steel lathered in dark red that reminded her of Ser Jorah. He who had fought alongside her, protected her until his final breath, and she had lain across his corpse as she wept, her tears freezing against her cheeks. But she could not stay with him, not even as Drogon curled up about them as the only way her son could comfort her. Her mind screamed in terror that the same fate had befallen Robb Stark, that his body laid amongst the dead on the battle field. She feared to find his charred body beneath the rubble of the castle or a spear protruding from his chest, his bloody form torn to pieces by the ferocity of the Others. Her heart begged to find no truth in her thoughts, and so she trudged through the snow, bent on finding Robb alive and safe.

But she could not return to the castle. Atop Drogon before her fall, she thought she saw Robb’s dark figure charging into the godswood, a dragonglass sword in his hand. It must have been him. None other held his compelling valor and utter foolishness. “He’s there,” she told herself. “He’s alright.” Her heart pounded like dragons’ wings against her ribcage, and for a moment, she believed herself.

As she limped through the snow, the dark of the night and bitter bite of the winter wind shielded her eyes like a widow’s veil. Struggling to peer through the storm, the white crystals forming clumps of snow that stuck to her blood tipped hair, her foot snagged against an unseen root beneath the snow. She gasped, a puff of breath ghosting over her face, and she stumbled, dropping the sword as her hands moved to catch herself beneath her body before she fully collapsed into the frozen earth. She shut her eyes tight, groaning out as she lay in the snow. There was a warm sensation at her lower side, and she turned her head to glance down at the spot above her hip. That was when she saw that red had bubbled and stained the thick fur fabric of her dress. She gasped out and bit out a hiss, suddenly remembering receiving the wound as she fought for her life against an Other. It festered and burned, and Daenerys felt a cry claw at her throat, her eyes pricking with tears. Her head throbbed and ached, and she could feel the cut above her brow begin to sting and trickle again.

And yet, all she could wish for was strong arms about her shivering form, the warmth of his breath against her skin, his sweet words singing in her ear to hush her fears.

“Robb…” she whimpered, turning away from the growing scarlet to frantically glance into the foggy night, searching beyond the crimson haze of the weirwood tree.

She did not wait, struggling and straining, forcing herself to stand to her feet even as she gasped out at the sharp burn like a dagger seeped in embers. Dany took a step, her muscles aching for reprieve, and she frowned, cursing her pain and the weakness in her limbs. She did not see the bloody prints she made in the snow and instinctively brought her hand to her side. She shuddered out a cry, no longer caring where her limbs took her as the wind blew back her blood streaked hair. Her violet eyes narrowed beneath her frosted lashes as her vision began to waver. She swayed and staggered, her wound no longer burning, no longer feeling. Her lips parted and her breath like smoke from her dragon’s mouth puffed out as she mumbled for Robb, for Jorah, for Drogon.

But then, within the fog, she could make out the silhouette of a figure approaching her. She huffed out a shuddering gasp, her heart jumping to her throat as she worked to swallow it down. Tears wetted her lashes, her lips pulling tight as she dropped her hand to quicken her feet. Her blood pumped fiercely beneath her skin, her limbs singing “Robb, Robb, Robb” and she believed in the elation that swelled in the pit of her stomach.

But there was something in his stance—his body slightly hunkered, his arm raised and a limp in his step—and Daenerys could feel her blood turn cold. Her lips closed around the word “no”, and, forgetting her pain, she rushed to him, opening her arms to seize him.

Robb fell into her arms, his face pressing into her shoulder as she wrapped her arms about him, holding him in her arms, feeling his warmth before slowly guiding them both down to rest in the snow.

“Robb, Robb,” she said, sniffing as she placed her hand at the back of his head, running her fingers through his auburn hair.

He breathed softly into her neck, and with her guidance, he moved in her arms to lie in her lap with his head against her chest. That was when she could see the thick grime of soot, blood, and dirt covering his face. An angry red slice had been carved from his cheek and blood, thick and red, seeped and flowed from the wound.

“Dany?” Robb his voice was heavy and gruff, and she could see the tint of scarlet that coated his mouth.

She moved her arm from beneath the weight of him, and her heart hammered in her chest when Robb groaned out in response to her movements. His crystalline blue eyes winced and his jaw tightened. After scanning over his body, her eyes halted then on the dark spot that his hand was pressed against just at the line of his ribcage. Blood soaked his fingers, and Dany did not hesitate to take his fingers in her own, holding the wound with him. Her eyes shimmered and face contorted with panic and sorrow as she struggled to hold back her tears, biting her bottom lip. She did not see that Robb had not looked away from her, his eyes gliding over her pale face, her lips, her nose, the lilac of her eyes, the bloody cut at her forehead.

“Oh,” her throat constricted and burned. “Please, no. Gods make the bleeding stop.”

She sniffed, pressing her hand tighter against the wound. He did not flinch.

“Dany—”

“No, I’ve lost Jorah. I won’t lose you too.”

She said it with such conviction, such determination, and for an instance Robb almost believed her. She looked back down at him, wild locks of hair falling in her face, and she watched him slowly blink and smile at her. He moved his hand out of hers to reach up and touch her face, stroking her cheekbone beneath his thumb.

“You—my Queen,” Robb rasped, his hand to heavy as he let it fall to take her hand, “w—were the moon that illuminated the darkness I walked…”

Daenerys wept, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Robb, please.”

But he did not hear her, his eyes closing. “Lo—Long has the wolf been in love with the moon.”

His words would have melted her heart, set it ablaze with the bluest of flames. But instead there was a crack, one that reached her ears, and her body froze. The sound came from within. It was more than her heart, her very being, such a feeling that not even the death of her sun-and-stars could instill.

“My wolf…” She whispered.

She leaned down then and pressed her lips to his, soft and gentle with all the tenderness she could convey in the sudden act, and his lips moved against hers, weakly. She pulled away from him, closing her eyes as she rested her forehead on his, listening, feeling his breath against her face. Each breath grew fainter, and she did not move, did not let him go not even as he grew utterly cold in her arms. She laid there with him, long into the night and when the sun began to swallow the dark above the trees of the godswood. The moon sat and mourned, crying for the loss of her wolf.


End file.
